• Closed • Nuit Blanche (Graded)

[Tristan Venora]

6th of Zi’da, arc 719

“Is this it?“ Tristan asked and looked at the entrance to the Ox’s Bellow Tavern, momentarily adjusting the bag that he was carrying because it was quite heavy and filled with stones – or rather things made of stone (and clay).

“Yes, I think that’s the place”, his bodyguard Lianne, a pretty red head that shared his bed sometimes, replied.

“Let’s go in then!” Tristan told her, smiling all over his face. He’d been depressed for the past couple of seasons because of the Plague that had pretty much ruined Rynmere and forced him to go into exile again, but at the beginning of the Cold Cycle he’d decided to just stop, take advantage of his exile, enjoy life, see the world and create art instead.

Being depressed hadn’t felt good.

At all.

He pushed the door to the tavern open somewhat awkwardly – because of the bag that he was carrying and that he refused to hand over to Lianne – and stepped inside. While Lianne sat down at an empty table and watched Tristan somewhat bemusedly, the duke who wasn’t sure if he was still a duke due to a lot of his subjects dying approached the bar.

A moment later Soren would find himself face to face with a rather interesting looking young man. Tristan was wearing a very expensive looking bright blue brocade coat, among other things, there was a tattoo of shimmering silver runic symbols on the left side of his face, running down his neck and disappearing into his shirt, half-covered by wavy dark hair, and there was a crossbow strapped across his back.

The crossbow wasn’t brown or black or grey like weapons normally were, it was blue and golden instead.

“I’m sorry. I should have checked if weapons are allowed in here first”, he remarked and looked at Soren apologetically before he took the crossbow off and placed it onto to bar. “You can keep it as long as I’m here in order to make sure that I don’t shoot anybody. Not that I’m a particular good shot. I mostly shoot my old sculptures, for entertainment”, he explained and reached into his bag in order to remove a few small sculptures that appeared to be of astonishingly high quality, a noble knight, a scary looking, old hag and another knight – except this one wasn’t wearing any clothes apart from an impressive helmet with a feather and was really, really fat.

During the boat trip to Melrath – he intended to take part in a festival in Raelia – he’d made a smaller version of his best sculpture ever, the sculpture of Peake Andaris, in order to distract himself from his terrible seasickness. It had actually worked – sometimes.

“I’m a sculptor, you know, and I heard about this Nuit Blanche thing”, he explained. “I made sculptures of the founders of my home, Rynmere – and of Peake Andaris. That’s the naked guy. Do you want to see more of my work? I can even make my sculptures move”, he claimed.

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Nuit Blanche was just getting started. Through the day, the artists hosted their artworks and crafts in the large, open squares, many hoping to gain recognition, customers, perhaps even patrons. Soren had kept tables reserved for the artists who had brought in crafts, and several were occupied. People were moving through the tavern like a museum, drinks in hand, eyeing and discussing the pieces.

A well dressed man and woman entered the tavern, carrying a sack of something heavy. Another artist. Soren smiled. This was already going off better than he could've hoped. But as the man approached the bar, Soren's looked confused. It was Hart. This was most unexpected. He set a rather colorful and ornate crossbow atop the bar, explaining that he didn't know procedure. Hart would know the procedure. Soren didn't check weapons here, it was not an issue in Raelia. There were more than enough guards and military in the city to keep the sort that might try that type of thing in check.

Soren saw no need to correct the man. "Thank you sir. I'll keep it safe." He gently set the crossbow behind the bar into an empty cabinet. He smiled brightly at the man and woman, studying their behavior, to try and determine their relationship to one another. Soren chuckled at the man's mention of shooting his statues. He figured there was a joke in there somewhere, but also truth. If this man shot statues, and with this man's ornate wear, and crossbow, he was a very wealthy man. And dressed in a foreign style.

He watched as the man pulled various statuettes out of the bag, Soren marveling at their craftsmanship. Soren crouched down, bringing himself down to eye level with the statues. He looked up at the man, "These are marvelous. I've never met Peake Andaris, but I've heard legendary tales of him and his massiveness. This fits all the stories perfectly. Which of the Seven are these? I can only admit to being mildly learned in such stories. And yes, I would love to see more."

He stood up, realizing he must not have heard that last sentence right. "You can make them move? Are you a mage? Fascinating. I'd love to see that." Soren had a thought, "I think we can host your pieces right here on the bar. They truly are exquisite and deserve the best spot in the house to be viewed. Would you like something to drink? Artists drink and eat free tonight."

Then he realized his manners, "A thousand apologies, I've forgotten myself after seeing these wonderful pieces of yours. I'm Soren Kvistson, the proprietor of this tavern. Welcome."

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Tristan Venora]

The man behind the bar looked old – and confused. For a moment Tristan wondered if he was already a bit demented – from his experience, demented people were often confused - but he didn’t look quite old enough for that. He estimated him to be somewhere in his fifties. Tristan hoped he’d never grow old, but discover that he was a Mortalborn or an Immortal, like Ilaren, the woman he’d wanted to marry, even though it was a pointless thing to wish for since you didn’t normally discover that you were a powerful, ageless being.

“That’s Lianne”, he said, noticing Soren’s curiosity about his companion and pointed at the red-haired woman who nodded her head in a greeting. “She works for me. Before that, she worked for the queen, but the queen’s dead now”, he explained, the look on his face darkening for a moment. King Cassander’s wife had died, along with a lot of other nobles. There had been a time when he’d hated his old friend for burning mages alive, but now he just pitied him. He hoped that Cassander would be able to rebuild his kingdom one trial.

“This is Andaris”, he said and pointed at the knight. “And this here is Krome.” He touched the hag. “Kromes tend not to be particularly appealing. I’ve only ever met one Krome that was good looking. She was probably a bastard”, he said and grinned. A part of him quite liked scandalous stories about nobles having secret bastard children. His father had a bastard as well. His half-brother, Hart, was a really great person. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen him since he had asked him to play duke for a while.

Sometimes he wondered what he was up to now.

“Anyway, here are the other Seven”, he said and pulled out five more sculptures. “The rest of my works were unfortunately too big to carry. I made a sculpture of a Sessfiend as well. I wish that you could see that!” he told Soren. “I’m not a mage though, and I don’t think I want to become one either. I don’t want to be a mutant. I rather like myself the way I am – although mages can do interesting things sometimes”, he admitted, still quite unaware of the recent, mage-related problems in Melrath.

“If you want me to, I can modify one of these sculptures right now so that you can see my little trick”, he offered.

“I’m Tristan”, he introduced himself and extended a hand. At the table behind them, Lianne sighed loudly, and Tristan added, “Lianne probably thinks that I should tell you that I’m Duke Tristan Venora because it isn’t right to keep my identity a secret, but I don’t think that Rynmere nobility matters here. Do you have any wine?” he wanted to know. “I’d like to have a glass of red wine, please.”

“By the way, you did notice that the Peake sculpture doesn’t have any clothes on, right?” he asked. He was suddenly a little worried that the older man had a problem with his eyes. Most people tended to be put off by his naked celebrity sculptures – or absolutely outraged.

Why wasn’t Soren?

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

"It's a pleasure to meet you Lianne."

The man had not yet introduced himself yet. But Soren was sure he was working up to it. He seemed a polite enough fellow. High born for sure. Noble perhaps, though not locally. His accent was distinctly Rynmeren, and spirits know they had more than enough of those rich bastards running around. Fifteenth cousin of a sister of a husband's uncle's wife's daughter and such. It was difficult to remember all the interconnections and names. But, he supposed that if he was brought up with the wealth of a noble Rynmeren family, he could find the time to make such things to memory.

This woman had worked for the queen. Impressive, though as what? Chambermaid? Confidant? Assassin? Could never tell. Soren couldn't even remember who the last queen had been, and certainly hadn't the slightest clue as to who the current queen is. He listened as Tristan named off the statues, enjoying the small story that came with them. Scandals were fun, so long as they were not your own. Even more so if they could be profited from.

Soren had heard of Sessfiends as monsters in great stories, but hadn't the slightest idea of any more information about them. He didn't know what they looked like, where they were from, what they could do, and in so many of the stories, they were vastly different from each other. Finally, Tristan introduced himself, a hand extended, and Soren reached out to grasp it. "Well met Tristan Venora. And I most certainly have red wine."

In the moment it took him to turn around to the wine rack, he pondered whether it would be appropriate to give the man the finest wine he had, or the finest Rynmeren wine he had. Well, he was always a risk taker, so, he began reaching for the Venoran Rose. But he stopped. This man was a Venoran. Definitely not going to give that swill to him. It was a summer wine, only six golds per bottle. Highly inappropriate. He reached up past it, cradling it gently as he held it before Tristan, "Gyara, from Rharne."

He broke the wax seal and pulled the cork, to let the wine breathe. He reached up, grabbing one of the nice crystal goblets he saved for such bottles, setting it down. While waiting on the tannins, it was time to answer his questions. He decided to work his way backwards a bit, a friendly grin on his face, "Yes, I most certainly noticed. It was a rather fantastic rendition of him, considering the reputation of him that would pass through the Blacksmith Arms from time to time. Stories of him reached far and wide it seemed. Him being naked only seemed fitting to what I'd heard."

Giving enough time to breathe, he poured the wine for Tristan, and set it before him, keeping the bottle upon the bar. "Anything for you, Lianne?" Despite her not speaking yet to him, he suspected that Tristan was not the type to be offended by someone speaking to his employees directly. Continuing to work his way backwards in the conversation, thus forward, "Rynmeren nobility matters as much here in Melrath as Melrathi nobility matters over in Rynmere." Another sly grin at the safe, yet jesting answer.

"I would certainly love to see you make your statues move. And I'm glad to hear that it is not magic you use in your craft. It's not safe for mages here these trials, even with the protection of law on their side. I must say, I'm not so well versed in magic by definition, but you seem a trustworthy fellow. Do you need anything from me to help make them move?"

Through the bar, some people were pointing at the naked statue of Peake, whispering in hushed tones, with a mixed audience. Some found it scandalous, not for the nudity but for the grotesque obesity. Others were laughing at the state of Peake's genitals, dwarfed by the large belly. And still, more were wondering why just the helmet? And nearly all were asking who Peake was, for his name was not so renown as to reach Melrathi shores easily.

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Tristan Venora]

“I like Gyara“, Tristan remarked as Soren showed him the bottle. “I was in Rharne this Ymiden because my friend Faith Augustin needed my help. I developed a certain fondness for their wines.” In truth, he was fond of pretty much every wine. When he had been a little younger, he’d regularly consumed alcohol (he still remembered the trial when one of his cousins and he had raided Duchess Ebony’s secret stash quite vividly). He’d only stopped drinking so much when he’d become a father because he didn’t want to set a bad example for Ayla.

“Peake quite enjoyed the company of prostitutes”, he remarked and laughed as Soren stated that the lord being naked only seemed fitting. “One of my cousins - I don't remember which one - was rather enamoured with him as well. I wish my cousin had married Peake instead of that Becomer who tried to kill the king by throwing a door at him. Peake was great. The Becomer was an idiot”, he informed Soren, oblivious to the fact that the tavern owner would probably be confused because he wasn’t familiar with any of those people.

Having said that, he took a sip from the glass Soren had given to him and nodded approvingly.

“That’s really good!” he informed him.

Meanwhile Lianne told Soren, “I would like to have a bit of brandy, please!”

“I don’t remember meeting any Melrathi nobles in Rynmere”, Tristan murmured thoughtfully as the conversation turned to how much Rynmeran nobility mattered in Melrath and vice versa. “But then again, I was rather focused on taking care of my duchy and not dying from the Plague.” He shrugged his shoulders and took another sip.

As Soren mentioned that it wasn’t safe for mages at the moment, he looked up from his glass again and furrowed his brow. “Do you burn mages alive as well?” he wanted to know. He was a little worried all of a sudden. He really didn’t want to have to deal with mage-killers again. He disapproved of such a practice. It was cruel and absolutely unnecessary!

“I just need some space”, he replied as Soren asked him if he needed anything from him to help make the sculptures move. “Sparks and pieces of stone might fly, and I don’t want anybody to get hurt”, he said before he turned to face the audience that he’d apparently gathered.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” he remarked fondly and looked at his masterpiece. “It took me a while to make him anatomically correct. That’s Peake Andaris. He used to be one of the most dangerous and powerful men in Rynmere and the heir to the Duchy of Andaris. He fought a Sessfiend – that’s a gigantic two-headed hound - and lost a leg. Then he got fat and disappeared. Nobody has seen him in a while. Do you want to know more about him?” he asked hopefully because Peake was his favourite noble.

“I know a lot of stories about a lot of people!” he added.

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren listened closely as Tristan name dropped some of the most well known people in the world. Everyone had heard of Faith Augustin. She was a medical marvel, a woman truly ahead of her time. She had abolished slavery in Scalvoris, a feat that Soren would've thought utterly impossible. She'd cured an incurable disease, fought necromancers, and was the leader of the Order of Adunih. Soren doubted that there was anyone who hadn't heard of her in some fashion.

And this man spoke of her as a close friend.

At Lianne's order, he poured her some Ne'haeren brandy, a personal favorite of Soren's. She got to drink on the house too, despite Tristan being the craftsman. It was only fair. At the mention of mage burning, "It's unfortunately occurring yes. Not quite so organized as those that happened in Rynmere. Mobs, raiding the outskirts and such. Do be careful. They aren't exactly being discriminate about who they nab."

Soren was genuinely concerned for this man's well being, especially since he was going to perform not-magic magic now. Soren didn't dare touch the statuettes that were on the bar, but he did go and fetch a few clothes. He moved to the only remaining empty table, and placed the durable cloth atop it and several around it. He saw the crowd forming around Tristan and smiled. This man was great for business. They were buying him wine by the bottle, hoping to hear more scandalous tales of foreign nobility.

Soren definitely wanted to hear more, for himself and for his business. He summoned over his staff, and with some delicate help, they moved some of the tables that were near to Tristan's workstation-to-be, away. Very very carefully. Then, they lined up chairs all around the area in a loose semblance of a circle, facing the work station. Soren moved up next to the table, "Will this do Tristan?" He stepped forward, a friendly smile, as he gestured toward the table, "And I think I speak for all of us that we'd love to hear every story you're willing to share." Soren could see the bottles piling up on the bar for Tristan, each one being paid for, not falling under the free drinks rule. No one complained. They were intentionally buying them to show their admiration for his stories and demeanor.

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Tristan Venora]

As Soren confirmed that people were indeed burning mages in Melrath, Tristan frowned. “Burning mages doesn’t solve anything”, he pointed out. “I’m speaking from experience. Besides the fact that killing people is a questionable solution at the best of times, it will likely only lead to a political crisis. There were a lot of protests in Rynmere when Cassander ordered all mages to be burnt at the stake. Anyway, I’ll be careful. Thanks for the warning”, he added and took a gulp because he really needed the wine right now. The thought of people – because mages were people, too – screaming in pain while they were being burnt alive made him slightly sick.

As Soren prepared what was apparently the only remaining empty table for his little show, his mood brightened considerably again though and he reached into his bag in order to remove a couple of chisels and small hammers that were wrapped in a piece of leather. “This is perfect, thank you!” he remarked, looked at the chairs that had been arranged around the makeshift workstation and beamed. He quite liked having an audience sometimes!

A moment later his gaze fell on all the bottles though, and he turned to Soren a questioning look on his face. “Am I expected to drink them all?” he wanted to know, a little worried. “The gifts are appreciated of course, but I don’t think I’ll be able to work anymore if I do! I haven’t been able to make that anti-alcohol potion yet”, he remarked before he went to work. He grabbed the sculpture of Andaris (the noble looking one, not the obese Peake one) and started to hit it repeatedly with a hammer and a chisel until bright sparks flew in every direction.

Tristan had never figured out how exactly he made his sculptures move, he only knew that he could do it. It probably had something to do with physics, chemistry and other weird sciences. Padraig would probably understand his gift, but he really didn’t want to talk to him!

After a while he paused and wiped the sweat from his brow before he turned to the audience. “Which story shall I tell?” he wondered. “The one about how my slave Faith fought a cannibalistic shadow monster? No, I don’t think you like slavery here, do you? Ah, yes!” he exclaimed. “This is a good story. A few seasons ago, my friend Aeodan and I went looking for reagents. I’m also an alchemist, you know? In fact, I’m almost as good as Padraig now – that’s Faith’s husband. On the way to the hills we got lost, and then we were suddenly in this strange, misty world. There were cats everywhere. They walked on two legs, and they could speak! Aeodan was stung by an insect and switched bodies with one of the cat people for some reason, but I was able to make a potion that turned him back into a human, and then I made another potion that allows you to talk to cats. That’s how I found out that my own cat is a mystical creature from the Misty Miasma and not an ordinary house cat.”

“That’s awesome, isn’t it?” he asked and hit the sculpture again, a bit harder this time. “I also know a story about how Lady Elyna Burhan rode a dragon. I still have a few doses of that cat-speak potion, by the way, and I can probably make more if I find the reagents I need. They are a bit hard to come by. Does anybody want to be able to speak with their cats?” he asked and cast a glance at Soren, hoping that he didn’t mind.

“It’s not magic!” he informed them in case they had a problem with that. “It’s science!”

“I’m almost done, by the way”, he said. “You can come a bit closer now. I just need to put a few finishing touches on my work, and then you’ll be able to see the sculpture move!”

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren could tell that he would enjoy having conversations with Tristan one on one. He hoped he could, once he was done performing for a very appreciative audience. At Tristan's question, Soren stepped in close. Not close enough to possibly set of Lianne into breaking his face, but close enough that a whisper could be heard, "You're not expected to drink them here in Melrath. Simply accept them. You can take them or we'll keep them here for you on your tab." It didn't happen often, usually with bards or other performers, but Soren would keep a crate with their name on it, stored in the basement. As their drinks were built up, he'd add to their crate, and the person could drink for free for a while. It kept the big earners coming back.

Soren stepped back, smiling. "I wonder if an anti-alcohol potion would be good for business or ruin me..." he said with a chuckle. He moved back to the growing circle, watching as Tristan set to work. The man moved in a way that could be described as ethereal. Calling what he did 'work' or even 'crafting' was an insult of the highest order. This man's motions were just as natural as the winds, as beautiful as a sunset, as powerful as an erupting volcano. The tavern grew completely silent in watching him become art. He didn't make art. He was art. And the statue was an extension of it. Melrathi would tell tale of this for many arcs to come, about the time when they first realized what true beauty was.

His story was listened to, but his crafting was still the center of attention. The Misty Miasma was a story of old, one that no one knew if it was a real place or not, but the dropped jaws and fixated eyes indicated a lack of luster toward the story about standing cats. This was not disrespect toward Tristan, nor toward the story. It was utter awe and respect toward him and the craft. He might be a storyteller, but he was art, first and foremost. At least in the minds of those in the room.

It took a while for the haze to fade from the room, broken by Tristan himself. People cam forward in hushed tones, moving closer, hoping to see the magic they had seen work to make this statue move. Soren's eyes were transfixed, but he was a storyteller in his heart too. And he wanted to show the respect to Tristan's story, despite having been mesmerized himself. "Speaking with cats could be great fun. And useful, I imagine. Was it... was it terrifying in the Miasma? Stories of old make it out to be the worst of hells."

Soren rarely ever felt the need to ask questions of story, and even less often did he act on them. But this man, this masterpiece, had drawn it out of him. He was so aloof, cheerful, connected and influential. Did he seriously walk through hell as though it were just another day at a friend's house? Just who was he?

"But you are not free from the consequences."

[Tristan Venora]

“In that case”, Tristan whispered back to Soren before he abruptly turned to face the audience again and bowed deeply, the way he had used to bow to King Cassander, back before the Plague hat hit Rynmere. “Thank you for all these wonderful gifts.” As he said that, he smiled at them because it was a really nice gesture and truly appreciated. “As for the anti-alcohol potion”, he told Soren. “I think it would be good for business – because people would buy a lot more alcohol. The responsible parents who don’t drink a lot because they have to take care of their children would also start coming here!” he pointed out, feeling like quite the businessman for a moment.

He’d expected people to be a lot more impressed by his story about the Misty Miasma and the cat-people. When they kept staring at his sculpture instead, he pouted for a moment before he began to smile again because it meant that they liked his art. Besides, maybe there was another explanation for their lack of awe as well. Maybe talking cats were more common in Melrath – and you could buy cat-speak potions here, too!

“My cat has told me a lot of interesting things”, Tristan informed Soren. “But as I told you before, he’s originally from the Misty Miasma so he’s exceptionally intelligent. I’m not sure what normal cats would talk about. I should really have tried the potion out on Valeria’s cat, back when we were still together”, he murmured thoughtfully and sighed for a moment because he quite missed her. Valeria had been great. In fact, she had been better than Ilaren – because she hadn’t tried to mess with his mind so far.

“It was quite terrifying!” he told Soren, put his chisel and his hammer aside and started pushing the sculpture in a variety of different places instead – hard, so hard that his fingers hurt a little in fact. “There was so much mist that you couldn’t see the ground, and the Misty Miasma was full of plants and animals that can kill you. There’s a reason why stories about the Misty Miasma are told to scare children. The village of the cat-people was one of the few safe places there. The rest is like something out of a horror story!” he claimed in quite an ominous tone, as if he were some sort of actor standing on a stage (which was something that he’d actually done in the past).

“And now watch!” he ordered them and pointed at the sculpture before he pushed one last time. As if on cue, the stone knight who had spent the entirety of his existence standing still started to raise his sword and strike – and then again and again and again. Once the knight had stopped, Tristan turned to the audience again, grinned and bowed once more.

“If I imbued the sculpture with an alchemical trigger, I could probably make it react to a certain sound, but I don’t have any of my reagents here, so …” he explained before he abruptly broke off. “What do you think?” he asked, hoping that they had liked what they had seen.

[Soren Kvistson]

"You are free to choose,"

Soren certainly found logic in the idea of an anti-alcohol potion. He wondered how it was made, for that would truly determine its profitability. While Soren didn't water down his drinks here, he could, to take it easier on people. And not all brews were made stronger. He had an idea that he'd have to share with Tristan sometime, if they had a chance to talk more one on one. Tristan's idea was certainly on the right track, but Soren thought he had a way that could make it even better. He didn't have to be an alchemist to realize it. Just had to be a businessman.

Soren watched Tristan work the stone with his fingers, listened to the man's stories. Soren did not doubt the usefulness of speaking to cats, assuming cats were intelligent enough to understand the things they heard and saw. After all, who censored themselves around their house cat? They could have so many secrets. Profitable secrets. Tristan was a cash cow if he had the right person to make it so. The man truly seemed to be enthusiastic in his adventures and endeavors and discoveries. He was not a businessman, not in the true sense of the word. But he was profitable for sure.

And at his cue, the Knight began to move, and the gasps around the tavern felt as though they were gasps from around the world. It was amazing. Soren had watched everything that Tristan had done. None of it had seemed like magic, yet the results certainly seemed like magic to everyone looking on. But this wasn't the magic that brought fear into their hearts, not the magic that caused them to light torches and grab pitchforks. No, this was a magic that made them all feel like children again. Giggling and amusement washed over every face. In this moment, there was no hatred nor fear nor xenophobia. This was a moment most pure.

And Soren completely forgot about all the machinations in his mind.

It truly was wondrous. It took a long, silent moment, before anyone responded to Tristan's question. Soren broke the ice, "It's... astounding. I've never seen anything like it in my many arcs of travel through this world. I... just wow. Masterpiece does not do this justice. I'm.. I... amazing." It wasn't often that Soren was at a loss for words. It was incredibly rare, and yet, Soren didn't feel uncomfortable at the thought. Words could only diminish this moment, but even a slight diminishing could never dull it. "I wish to buy this wondrous piece for the tavern. And, if you wouldn't mind terribly, I would like to buy the one of Ser Peake as well."

Soren hadn't even considered trying to negotiate nor haggle for the price of them. It was most unlike him. But he needed to have these, and he wished to snap them up immediately. But he had to keep some semblance of professionalism, after all, business discussions in a crowd weren't always the wisest of things, at least not for the amount of money Soren was about to spend. He certainly was not about to put this much coin into the man's hands with this many people watching. Raelia might be safer than most, but there was no need to risk it.

"Perhaps you would like to rent a room here tonight, if you don't have one already? We can discuss it over breakfast. No need to talk turkey here on this wonderful night."

"But you are not free from the consequences."